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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30056370">ultraviolet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/localdisasterisk/pseuds/localdisasterisk'>localdisasterisk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Among Us (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien Impostor(s) (Among Us), Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, F/F, False Identity, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, The Skeld (Among Us), Trans Characters, Violent Thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 16:41:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30056370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/localdisasterisk/pseuds/localdisasterisk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Purple doesn’t know if her host had a name, or what it liked being called, so now she is Purple. She is Purple, and she is hungry, and she is crawling, slowly, through the small vents. She is going to eat the wiring in Electrical.</p><p>Purple is, in a word, hungry.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Black/Purple (Among Us), Crewmate/Impostor (Among Us)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>ultraviolet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi!! sorry, this is a re-upload, after I took down the first version, but I started working on another fic in this series, so I figured I might go ahead and put it back up.</p><p>just going to issue a general TW because Purple's Host Was A Shitty Person Who Said Shitty Things. it's pretty minor but there's:<br/>-casual sexism<br/>-casual ableism<br/>-mentions of him not using a trans person's name (not deadnaming, but using her last name to avoid her new name)<br/>-mentions of nationalism/ "patriotism"<br/>-mentions of alcoholism<br/>-having the overconfidence of a mediocre american white man<br/>-etc. </p><p>imagine an AITA post from someone who is not only the asshole in this situation, but, judging by the word choice and description given, the asshole in Every situation. that's the og purple. if that's going to be an issue, skip over the <i>(paragraphs in italics and parentheses)</i> because those are og purple's thoughts. also skip from <i>"“Carlyle was an asshole,” she answers with a sly grin."</i> to <i>"She shrugs and then yanks her wrist out of Purple’s glove."</i> when you see it!</p><p>also, meanings/translations of the names in the end notes!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Purple is, in a word, hungry. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(If I have to choke down another soppy chicken nugget I’ll punch a hole through the ship. How do they even get soppy? They’ve been dehydrated, for fuck’s sake!)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple doesn’t know if her host had a name, or what it liked being called, so now she is Purple. She is Purple, and she is hungry, and she is crawling, slowly, through the small vents. Purple, outside of her purple suit, can get through the vents much quicker and much quieter. Purple, outside of her purple suit, is something too easily recognizable as Not Whatever Used To Wear This Suit, so the big, loud suit it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She is going to eat the wiring in Electrical.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(God, fucking Electrical, again. Are you kidding me? If MIRA doesn’t manage to kill whatever space rats are chewing through the wiring all the time, they can find a new fluidics expert. Shouldn’t this be the engineer’s problem, anyway?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple has thoughts, sometimes, from whatever was in the suit before she took over. Whatever it is, it is not really conscious. It won’t ever really be conscious again. Purple does the thinking, and the moving, and the eating, and the eating, and the eating, and the eating, and th</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple is, in a word, hungry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some things on this ship are good to eat. The rubber on some of the wiring. The plastic caution signs hidden in storage closets. The nickel plating on the syringes in MedBay. Something in a White suit that was Not Whatever Used To Wear That Suit said that inside the suits is good to eat, too. Brown said this stained with rust. Lime said this floating back home, still licking out the last remnants of inside other suits from wherever it could reach. Purple is still too aware of whatever was in the purple suit before her to try that yet. But if the connection doesn’t fade soon, she might try anyway. Purple is, in a word, hungry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple’s visor snaps up. Black is sitting there, four wires re-connected, helmet off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple… has not seen inside someone’s helmet before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Black doesn’t look like whatever was in the purple suit before Purple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Black’s mouth– small and flat-toothed, with a red, short tongue– opens up and she… laughs? Is that a laugh? It’s so soft, though; too soft to be a laugh, surely. Laughs are always harsh, hissing, screaming things, but Purple doesn’t know what else this could be. “Gosh, Carlyle! You scared me half to death, poppin’ up like that! Didn’t know anyone could be clumsy enough to fall into one of those vents– not that you’re– I-I’m so sorry I didn’t hear you! Let’s get you out of there, darli– Carlyle. Okay, let’s just—”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Sweetheart? Listen, Greene, I’m sure this cutesy southern belle shit flew real well getting you into the program, but not here. We’re gonna be drifting through the stars for years, and if you think I’m gonna get called ‘sweetheart’ by a tiny farm girl, you can think again. It’s Carlyle, Schwartz, or my suit color. That’s it. Got me?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fallen in earlier,” Purple repeats. Black– Greene?– bares her teeth again, grabs the arm of Purple’s suit, and tugs. Purple climbs out. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Black’s teeth bare further. “It’s no trouble, Carlyle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple is, in a word, hungry. She tries, “Carlyle?” Black’s mouth drops, turning downwards, and her eyebrows scrunch together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or– w-would you prefer Schwartz? ‘Cause you always call me Greene instead of Bridgette, but– well, callin’ you by your last name seems a little impersonal, is all. And callin’ you </span>
  <em>
    <span>purple</span>
  </em>
  <span> feels like we might as well be strangers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple cocks her helmet. “Purple,” she echoes affirmatively. Carlyle is not her. Carlyle is hosting her, but Carlyle is dead and will be gone sooner rather than later, so Purple would rather be called the name she’s picked out for herself. Black’s mouth falls even further, and then Purple reaches out and takes back Black’s suited hand in hers. “Bridgette?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(I’m not calling you by your first name once we lift off. Last names and suit colors only. LeBlanc, Tan, you’re also gonna be getting “old man” and “asshole” respectively, but you know that by now.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Black– Greene? Bridgette?– stammers, starting many words and not finishing any of them. Her skin is darker than Carlyle’s, warmed and speckled by a sun that Purple has never seen. “If– if you wanna call me that, I’d be alright with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple nearly lets out a pleased hiss before catching herself. “Alright,” she says instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bridgette bares her teeth again. Purple thinks that she looks more like Not Whatever Used To Wear This Suit when she does that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple is, in a word, intrigued.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>She didn’t mean to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god,” says Orange, hand coming up to her visor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t mean to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god,” echoes Purple, bringing her gloves up on either side of her helmet the way she’s seen Bridgette do when shocked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t mean to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Orange makes a sound that could almost be </span>
  <b>“sated,”</b>
  <span> but then she is taking off her helmet and stumbling towards the trash chute in the corner of MedBay and retching into it, not Purple’s language at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t mean to.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Damn, Tan, you know how to party, huh? Tell you what, I’ve got a nice, greasy pork sandwich out here for you when you’re done praying at that porcelain throne.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t mean to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple was just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>hungry.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Lime clings to Pink and Yellow protectively when Orange tells them the news around the cafeteria table. Red and Blue are holding hands under the table, and Purple can hear Red’s knuckles creaking with the force of it. Bridgette gasps. Pink sounds hollow when he asks, “Why do you think he was m– m– killed? Sharps aren’t allowed on b– board, and someone would have heard if he was blu– bl– bludg– hit.” His stutter is worse than usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Jesus, you’ve got that accent and a speech impediment? God must have it out for you, Pinky.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Orange swallows, hard. “Cyan—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Orange’s fists clench at the interruption. “I didn’t know his name—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yellow snaps, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Jan Červený.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She sets her jaw and looks up, meeting Orange’s eyes with something wet in her own. “Now you know. Jan Červený.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Cerveny, right? Listen: I’m not sitting for your fucking psych evals. Do whatever medical hoodoo juju you want to, but I’m not talking about my feelings, capiche? I don’t care what MIRA says. You tell them I passed with flying colors, or whatever the fuck you think works out best, because I’m not. Doing. Them. Capiche? Good! Glad to have this chat with you, Cerveny.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Orange closes her eyes and nods, the same hollowness in Pink’s voice suffusing the gesture. Purple shrinks into her seat. “Červený was… mutilated.” A shaky breath. “There were. It looked like teeth and spikes had just. Ripped him to shreds.” Červený had needed to check that the scanner was working, and he’d asked Purple, and Purple liked Červený, and Purple was hungry, and Červený looked at the test results and gasped, and Červený looked so afraid, and Červený opened his mouth to scream and it looked so red and warm and Purple was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so hungry</span>
  </em>
  <span> and her helmet came off and her teeth closed down around Červený’s throat and he tasted good, too, and Purple was so hungry, Purple was so hungry, Purple was</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who could do that?” Lime whispers. Purple thinks about something like her in a suit like theirs licking rust from wherever it remained after so long in the void, after such a sudden ejection from the ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of us,” Blue says, cold inside his helmet. Red squeezes his hand even harder, leaning into his shoulder, and Blue wraps a fatherly arm around them, a protection from the killer, whoever they might be. “One of us is a killer. Who saw him last?” Purple waits for Bridgette to ask about the MedBay scan. Bridgette looks at the table and says nothing. “Didn’t Greene need burn care, not half an hour ago?” Blue asks after a moment. All eyes turn to Bridgette. Purple waits for the black-gloved finger to point at her, but Bridgette just sputters, brown eyes wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone looks suspicious of her. Sweet Bridgette, who helped Purple out of the vent and talks to the ship like it’s a person and will explain everything she’s doing to Purple in small words and cheerful anecdotes. Kind Bridgette, who isn’t pinning the blame on Purple even though it makes the most sense. The crew are looking at Bridgette, with her frequent smiles and her black plaits and her earnesty, and they are at least half-succeeding in seeing a killer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s going to get thrown out of the airlock, Purple realizes. She has heard stories of ships like this, suits like these, and that’s what happened to What Was Not White, and What Was Not Brown, and What Was Not Lime. Bridgette is going to get thrown out of the airlock for Purple’s hunger. “Greene?” Purple repeats before anyone can say anything else, laughing and shaking her helmet. Ridiculous. Hilarious to even suggest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pink’s fingers drum on the table. “We don’t know enough yet. Anyone could b– be the impostor.” Purple shivers, at that. Impostor. It’s the word that she’s heard before, the first one in any tongue not belonging to her and the things like her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mōsagāḍu. Impostor. Kapatee. Piànzi. Samozvanets.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Repeated back to her as one of the most recent words spoken to the things like her in suits like these, even light years away from where it was said, even decades after it had been voiced. “We’re halfway done with r– r– rep– fixing the ship. If we’re careful and m– maybe use the b– buh– buddy system…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue is still inside his suit. Afraid, Purple thinks. She doesn’t blame him.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>There’s the very quiet rattle of something larger than air moving through the vents, and then the crash of the opening to a vent slamming open. From the corner of Purple’s cabin, something like her hisses, </span>
  <b>“Hunger sated, yes?”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple nearly jumps out of her suit, she’s so startled, but she stills herself and looks into the darkened vent-corner. Blue is propped up on the elbows of his suit, helmet leaning on the palm of his glove. </span>
  <b>“You as well?”</b>
  <span> Purple asks, breathless and unsure.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>“Red will feed me well for days,”</b>
  <span> Blue laughs in the safety of her camera-less quarters. Purple can feel herself turning cold and sluggish with horror. Blue has done this before, she realises. He must have; she heard him speak in his own words, not just repetition and echoes like her own clumsy attempts at blending in. Blue is going to consume the one who has been taking comfort in him with no remorse, with what even seems like </span>
  <em>
    <span>glee.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Purple is going to retch just as Orange did earlier, and the red blood of the cyan doctor will splatter the insides of her suit. Red hands, despite no hands to be coated in the proof of her guilt. </span>
  <b>“And of your pretty little engineer—”</b>
  <span> Blue begins, leading, expecting Purple to offer up her own expectations of prey and pouncing and ripping of Bridgette’s kind flesh from her sweet bones.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Call my girlfriend a “pretty little thing” again and I cut your dick off, Miller! In front of God and everybody! You don’t touch Hannah, you don’t look at Hannah, you don’t fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> think </span>
  <em>
    <span>about Hannah. Sit the fuck back down, you little freak.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple knows what she’s doing, this time, when she opens the gap between her helmet and her suit wide and bites at Blue. But Blue has done this before, and he drops into the vents before her teeth can close around him. Purple hisses a swear and runs to the cafeteria to hit the Emergency Button because this is an emergency, this is an </span>
  <em>
    <span>emergency,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>she can hear him.<br/>
</span>
  <span>In the vents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s going towards Bridgette’s room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple screams, more Impostor than the crewmate she knows Carlyle was, and turns on the heel of her boot to pursue Blue. The ship clangs beneath her suit, echoing down the corridor and sounding an alarm to the tune of her thudding bootsteps as she bolts for the engineer’s quarters.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(You’re killing me here, gramps.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The rustling and broken sounds of the vent pick up speed.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(You ever think about how weird it is we’ve all got color names and we get different colored suits? Like, you’re LeBlanc, that’s uh, that’s white in French. So why do you always get blue? Especially ‘cause the fuckin’– the Irish guy, his last name means ‘blue’ or something, but here we are!)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple slams into the door and hammers on it with her gloves, loud enough that maybe it will wake Bridgette, loud enough that maybe no one else will have to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Hey, you feeling okay old man? Nah, ‘course I don’t, I just figured I should ask why you’re being so fucking moody out of nowhere. You’ve been weird since that last spacewalk – rogue asteroid give you a concussion you didn’t mention?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bridgette screams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Move!” Lime shouts, high and panicked, and Purple only barely stumbles aside before the botanist is slamming a long piece of metal into the door, breaking down the paneling enough that they can grab it and push it aside, revealing Bridgette, backed into the far corner, wielding her own cracked black helmet like a bludgeon, and Blue, brimming over with fangs and unwashed, uncared-for flesh and a thousand spiked tongues crawling over the body of what used to be an old man. Lime swings the pipe into his stomach, sending Blue into the opposite wall with the force of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple grabs Bridgette by the arm and pulls her back, away from the other Impostor, standing between them. Blue howls and the alarms start blaring and Purple doesn’t know if that’s the reactor going off of if it’s the O2 depleting or if someone has just finally pressed the Emergency Button but whatever it is, she howls back at him, lunging past Lime and grabbing hold of the wrists of his suit. “Move,” she parrots to Lime, who does so, and Purple drags the Impostor, screaming and kicking, to the airlock. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Move,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she growls to the assembled audience, some dressed in sleepwear and some half-suited and only Orange, like her, hidden entirely behind nylon canvas and a reflective visor. They all have some improvised weapon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone watches as she throws him in, seals the doors, and then flushes him into the stars. It won’t kill him, but they don’t know that. This way, he can’t kill them. Red breaks down sobbing on the floor as they watch, the youngest and the closest to who they all thought Blue was, but they don’t seem angry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just betrayed.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Bridgette takes Purple’s hand in hers, one day, just inside electrical. “It used the vents,” she says. There’s a sharpness to it that Purple has never heard before. Bridgette looks up at her, cracked visor meeting Purple’s reflective shield against the world seeing what she truly is, and shudders. “Purple,” she says slowly. “Take off your helmet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple’s chestpiece moves like a sigh. “Bridgette,” she says. It’s a plea and a promise, and it’s one that Bridgette ignores.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your helmet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple reaches up and settles her gloves against the latch and removes her helmet. She swarms over Carlyle’s face so that Bridgette doesn’t have to see what metamorphosis has ruined the flesh beneath. Bridgette still makes a sound like </span>
  <b>“sated”</b>
  <span> and turns to the vent and rips off her cracked helmet and retches. The alarms go off. The reactor is melting down, and Purple has done it because isn’t that what they do? The Impostors? They break down the entirety of the ship so they can have all the insides of the suits to themselves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple is so, so hungry for the insides of the suits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bridgette groans and wipes at the corner of her mouth. Purple sets a glove on her back and says, “Your helmet.” Bridgette looks up at her, fear in her big brown eyes. “You forgot to put on your helmet,” Purple tells her, all teeth, and then she opens her maw and</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Hm? No, no, yeah, I’m uh… I’m great. It’s just– you ever have a bad dream you wake up from and it’s like, ‘whoa, shit, guess I needed a better nightcap if I’m still worried about all that’? Yeah.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple’s eyes fly open and her gloves tighten in the bedsheets. The first thing she sees is the ceiling, lit red and white by turn. The alarms are so loud it grates.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(If I never see another reactor meltdown panel in my life, it’s going to be too soon by fucking decades.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She scrambles out of bed and out of her quarters and into the reactor room just as everything stabilizes. Tan and Ó Gormáin look up at her, orange helmet and a set of blue eyes settled on the glass of her reflective visor. “M– morning, Purple,” Ó Gormáin drawls after a moment, giving her a shaky grin. “Sorry to wake you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s our shift on the reactor recovery,” Tan says, not unkindly, and Purple nods the helmet in a big, exaggerated movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She extends two of the fingers of her glove in a bad salute and ignores the way she can feel Tan’s eyes on her back, even through the helmet. “Sorry,” she repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tan takes a few jogging steps after her, catching Purple’s glove in her own orange one. “We can walk back to the quarters together. Dismissed, Ó Gormáin.” Ó Gormáin gives a sharp nod – any gravity sorely undermined by the fact that he’s wearing pink bunny slippers, a bleach-spotted tank top, and an inflatable flamingo around his waist – and turns to his own quarters. The cameras aren’t lit up red, so no one is watching. Purple knows this because Tan looks up at them thoughtfully before grabbing the shoulders of Purple’s suit and slamming her against the wall, pinned in place. “You’re an Impostor,” she says simply. Not an accusation, a fact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple freezes. In the year she’s been here, she’s had enough time to train her mouths to move and work in tandem, repeating older phrases. It all leaves her and she copies, “Impostor?” Tan moves one of her arms to flick up her own visor and for half a second, Purple is expecting a repeat of Blue, to see something has wormed its way over and into and amongst her skin, but the navigator is still there. Premature gray streaks in black hair, mouth made thin and turned down with suspicion. There is distrust in her eyes. She reaches for Purple’s visor. Purple grabs her hand in the air and echoes Alvarado’s earlier, “Please don’t.” Tan’s jaw sets in suspicion, and Purple has never been capable of tears, but she feels the melancholy pressing into her. “An Impostor,” she agrees softly after too long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tan hums. “You haven’t killed anyone.” Purple winces at that, and Tan catches it, eyebrows rising. “…LeBlanc didn’t kill Červený, did he?” Purple shakes her helmet side to side in a negative. Tan’s hand tightens its pin. “How– doesn’t matter. All this time and no one else, doesn’t matter. You haven’t been sabotaging the ship, have you?” Purple shakes her helmet again, more vehemently this time. Tan’s eyes narrow. She looks at where Purple’s glove has hers, and seems to make a decision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She drops Purple and starts on her way off, but Purple catches her this time. “How?” Purple echoes, and Tan snorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Carlyle was an asshole,” she answers with a sly grin. “Wouldn’t call me Jìngyí when I transitioned and exclusively used my family name. Refused to pronounce Červený or Černá. Made nationality jokes until everyone left the room, but god forbid anybody said anything about America.” She shrugs and then yanks her wrist out of Purple’s glove. “The others think Bridgette has just done you good, but I know. I like you better than him.” Purple gawps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jìngyí,” Purple says, testing the waters, but Tan shakes her head. It’s with a smile, though, so Purple thinks that there are no hard feelings. Something else catches up with Purple, and she cobbles together, “Bridgette has done… me… good?” Tan laughs at that, a sharp huff, and looks up at Purple with something like fondness.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Tan, I know you’re a chick now, but if you say any feelings shit I will straight up break your bank ordering enough vodka to forget it.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tan pats Purple on the shoulder, condescending but in a playful sort of way, and says, “You want to be better for her.” Purple gets the feeling that she should be embarrassed, though she doesn’t know why. She watches the back of Tan’s suit, the orange a bright spot amongst the dull metal corridors of the Skeld, and wonders if the pilot has stayed suited as a precaution for herself or as an alibi for Purple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple doesn’t want to risk asking, and goes back to bed.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Bridgette takes her hand and leads her to MedBay and says, “Can you watch me scan?” Purple watches, and then locks the doors while Bridgette is distracted entering her data. “Carlyle?” Bridgette asks, brown eyes wide with fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wrong guess,” Purple says, and her tongues burst through the glass of her helmet and Bridgette’s screaming mouth is just another point to touch and eat and consume and Purple is </span>
  <em>
    <span>so hungry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple is licking the blood from the walls when the doors slide open. “Oh, god,” breathes Tan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple bares her teeth like a smile but so much worse. “Wrong. Guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(No, baby, come back to bed! C’mon, I’m sorry, I’ll be good after that one. I only ever have the one nightmare, it’s fine. Hannah, please, c’mere—)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple swings her legs over the edge of her bed and sets her boots down on the floor. Patrol it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple has been hungrier, lately. Červený sated her for a long time, but it has been over a year since she ate that well, and she can feel the hollow pit of hunger shifting amongst her insides uncomfortably. She will not lose control again. She will not consume another of her friends. They are </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends,</span>
  </em>
  <span> now, with names and inside jokes and affection. Bridgette holds her glove during lunch. Tan sits up with her in between tasks and asks about Purple’s home in return for knowledge about Earth. Černá digs an elbow into the side of her suit and talks circles around her in a playful mockery that Purple contributes to with a sharp ruffle of her yellow crewmate’s short blonde hair. Brown hugs her every time they pass in the halls, something like affection and something like repayment for saving them from Blue, and Purple presses her helmet’s glass into their hair. Ó Gormáin trades his food for hers, and Purple knows that he’s trying to give her the better end of the deal some of the time, but it doesn’t matter to her. She can’t eat it around the rest of them, anyway, and all sustenence is sustenence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s wandered to the cafeteria unthinkingly. It’s not a terrible shock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alvarado is there, sipping some not-really-coffee. They give her a tiny smile behind the lip of their lime-green mug. It has different kinds of Earthling plants doodled on it in red ink. “Nightmares?” Alvarado asks, and Purple nods her helmet. They click their tongue in understanding. “Mine was about LeBlanc getting into the garden.” Purple imitates a snort of laughter, and they grin at her. “I know, right? Not even eating me, but my </span>
  <em>
    <span>squash.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Purple cocks her helmet to give the impression of a judgemental eyebrow raise, and Alvarado waves a garden-gloved hand at her in dismissal. They must have gone to the greenhouse before coming here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple says, “Mine was about… the Impostor,” which isn’t a lie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alvarado makes a sympathetic expression and sits down next to her at the cafeteria table. “You need some coffee too, chico?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(God, and Lime? They keep fucking calling me ‘chico’ like I don’t have more experience at space than them. Yeah, sure, they’re older, but that doesn’t fucking matter. Oh, piss off, LeBlanc, you try calling me some French kid name and I’ll eject your ass.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple freezes. The answer is yes, she needs some coffee because she is so hungry and that will help, but Alvarado can’t see her face. After a second, she finds the memories of Alvarado talking to Černá and corrects, “Chica.” Alvarado’s mouth drops into an ‘O’ and then they give Purple the softest smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chica,” they agree, “sorry. Is ‘Purple’ still a good name?” Purple nods her helmet, and Alvarado nods back, biting their lip with shining eyes, and then they lurch forward and hug Purple tightly. “Thank you for trusting me with this,” Alvarado says, sounding overcome with emotion, and that’s when Purple realizes her mistake. Carlyle was a man. Alvarado thinks that Purple is trans, not an outsider who chose a host that happened to come with a different set of pronouns than her own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple is finding the words to cobble together an explanation, but her mouths fall shut when she realizes that there isn’t one. There can’t be one unless she explains the whole of it, and Alvarado will slam their hand on the Emergency Meeting button and drag Purple out and push her into the stars. Alvarado’s arms around her suit are so warm, and not in a way that makes Purple hungry, but in the way that makes her want to sink into it with all that she is. “Thank you,” she repeats instead, bringing up a glove to settle on their back and leaning into the hug, “thank you… Alvarado.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Purple is watching Bridgette connect wires, because there are always wires that need to be reconnected and Bridgette always feels safer if Purple is there with her, when Purple says, “I’m… a woman.” Bridgette stills before very carefully setting the wires she was working on reconnecting down where they won’t zap anything, and then turns to face her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bridgette is smiling. Purple flutters along the inside of her suit. “Congratulations,” she says brightly, and Purple is… fairly sure that is not the typical response. She’s proven right half a moment later when Bridgette cringes inwards and says, “Gosh, I don’t know where the hell that came from, I– </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> that’s what my brother said when </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> came out! And I laughed at him so hard for it, too.” She presses her face into her glove, flushing with embarrassment, and Purple imitates a laugh. It’s a fabrication, but even more of one than usual because really, she’s just staring. Bridgette is smiling and blushing and she is so nice to look at. Purple could stare at her for hours with every single eye she has, and she doesn’t think she’d ever get tired of just looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Purple eventually says, dryer than anything, and Bridgette scowls at her playfully, batting at the shoulder of her suit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple sits a little closer to her, having gotten that out of the way. It’s nice. It makes her flutter.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>It takes another six months for the team to set down on Polus. There are animals there, strange and raw, and Purple is the one that Ó Gormáin chooses to go along with. They find corpses of small, bloody things, and Purple hides them inside her suit when the xenobiologist isn’t looking. She eats well, on Polus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ó Gormáin stops walking when they are deep amongst Polus’ mountains and dead rock and turns to her, flicking his reflective visor up. His hair is falling out in wisps from the bun he set it up in, and his eyes are steel. “Purple, the specimens have b– been going m– mi– missing.” His stutter is bad like it only is when he’s nervous. Purple stares, unsure of what is happening. Ó Gormáin looks at her, face hard in a way that doesn’t fit him. “What have you b– b– b– done with them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple doesn’t know what lie to give, what words she could string together into a coherent defense, and Ó Gormáin is looking at her like he’s expecting the truth – so she gives it to him. She flicks up her own visor. Ó Gormáin doesn’t scream, or gasp, or make a sound like he’s about to vomit — he looks her over. “Hungry,” she answers, and maybe it’s watching her speak or maybe it’s the word that makes his face twist with fear and revulsion. “Sorry,” she says. Quiet, ashamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then Ó Gormáin takes a step forward and presses his hand to the side of her helmet, squinting and investigating the piece of her pressed closest to it. “If you’ll let m– me study you,” he says, “I won’t r– re– give you up.” Purple blinks at him. He jolts back a bit, clearly unprepared for the movement, but his hand stays pressed against her visor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ó Gormáin laughs, only slightly hysterically. He’s doing a lot better than both of the other people who have seen her. “Xenob– b– biologist,” he says simply, patting a hand on his chest. And then, the corner of his mouth ticking up like it does after he’s thought of a joke to make everyone at the table with him groan, he pats a hand on Purple’s chest piece and says, “Xenom– morph. You do the m– m– math, facehugger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple hisses in amusement, and Ó Gormáin stumbles back, tripping over his own feet and ending up sprawled on the rocky ground. Purple winces. “Sorry,” she says again, lowering her reflective visor to lessen the horror and giving him a thumbs-up. Confused and terrified in equal parts, he raises his eyebrows at her, and she copies the sound of an embarrassed, self-deprecating chuckle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck m– m– fuck all r– running, that was a laugh,” Ó Gormáin sighs, relief bleeding through the words, leaning back on the ground and bringing a hand up to his visor like he’s going to connect with his forehead. Purple hisses again, her suit deflating with the lack of effort to hold herself in place, and Ó Gormáin gives a mocking laugh, the bite of it lessened by how winded he is. “Oh, sure, yuck it up. Thought I was gonna get eaten, b– b– don’t let me r– ru–  spoil your fun. Shitheel.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Bridgette is looking at her. Purple’s visor is facing Brown, who has their hair tied back in a puff and is gathering opinions on if it looks better like this, or down in their usual style, but Purple is looking back. “Greene,” Brown asks after Purple has given them a thumbs-up, (it’s cute! and also less likely to damage the seal of their helmet) and Bridgette startles. Brown looks confused for a second before their teeth bare in a massive smile. Bridgette’s eyes widen, and she starts spluttering. Purple is missing something. “Sorry, I’ll just leave you to it then, shall I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bridgette’s face is flushing. “Red,” she starts, but Brown just laughs and winks and goes off to ask Alvarado. Purple cocks her helmet at Bridgette, who flushes further. “Don’t worry about it, Purp.” Purple flutters along the inside of her suit like she always does when Bridgette calls her nicknames or endearments, her eyes squinting up with fondness. “What– er, what were we talkin’ about, again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Skeld’s power transfers,” Purple repeats once she’s made sure most of the affection has left in her voice, and Bridgette brightens back up immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(I love Hannah, I do, but Jesus fucking Christ. If we get anywhere near the subject of astrophysics she won’t shut up about them for decades. It’s ridiculous.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlyle’s remnants are few and far between, but this one still makes Purple twist in displeasure. Listening to someone important talk about things she loves is a blessing, not something to endure. Purple pauses in that thought, grabbing onto it and holding tight. Carlyle’s brain regurgitates thoughts about </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hannah</span>
  </em>
  <span> very often, and Purple is reasonably certain that the two were intimate. Having relations and in a relationship. Carlyle loved her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks of her when Purple thinks of Bridgette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweetpea?” Bridgette asks worriedly, putting a hand on Purple’s canvas shoulder. “You doin’ okay in there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Knew she was too good for me. Don’t– don’ fuckin’– I knew it, Tan. Got home ‘n ev’rythin’ was jus’... packed up ‘n gone. Nightmares ‘n drinkin’ scared her off. Good fuckin’ riddance! Go fuck someone pretty like you, Han, go– jus’ fuckin’—)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doin’ okay,” she repeats, and Bridgette’s mouth presses into a worried line. Purple moves her glove and squeezes Bridgette’s hand in reassurance and, sure enough, it makes her flutter the same way it has since that day in Electrical when Bridgette pulled her out of the vents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things break apart when you don’t tell someone everything, Purple realizes, flicking through the patchwork of a life that Carlyle led. Nightmares and consuming were enough to drive away Hannah, even though he loved her. It broke something in him, to have her and then to have her leave, and Purple watches Bridgette talk about their ship’s mechanics and the oil and grease and wires of it, and Purple thinks she understands. Purple thinks she would break too, to have Bridgette in her hold and then for her to break free and scream and scream and scream and</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple is, in a word…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple is…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What is Purple?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bridgette gives her a shy smile and a laugh, and Purple is fond. And Purple is scared. And Purple is maybe, somehow, impossibly, in love.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Ó Gormáin is scanning her vitals when Černá walks into MedBay, grabs one of the scalpels, and taps it against the glass of Purple’s visor. “Hurt Bridgette and I cut out every last one of your shitty outerspace eyeballs, hear me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If not for the fact that it’s still nerve-wracking, Purple might be getting tired of people abruptly revealing that they know she’s an Impostor. Černá knows. How does Černá know? Who told her? Tan wouldn’t have, and though she and Ó Gormáin are friends, he looks just as shocked as Purple feels. Černá must decide that the confusion is getting in the way of her answer because she rolls her eyes and says, “Kaia told me. Apparently, you—” jabbing the air with the scalpel in the direction of Ó Gormáin— “leave your channel on public. They didn’t tell me what else they’ve heard you doing on that channel, but I’m pretty sure they told Elena-Miguel.” She taps the scalpel on Purple’s visor again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… heard you,” Purple answers. Černá nods to herself, tossing the sharp object over to Ó Gormáin, who slides out of its path to avoid getting stabbed or sliced. (Černá has a habit of forgetting that not everyone can catch dangerous things without causing themselves harm the way she can. Years of being the best weapons expert that MIRA has will do that to someone, Brown has informed her. Brown has informed her of many things because, as communications officer, they have their finger on the pulse of gossip. Purple isn’t sure what that means, but they seemed very pleased when they said it, so Purple has stored it away in her memory for later. Apparently, that gossip also includes Purple’s status as an Impostor.) Černá turns to leave, but Purple cobbles together, “They told… Alvarado… how much?” Černá shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Helpful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ó Gormáin pushes his glasses up so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, Sabina. We’ve got wine and cheese night later, so r– rem– don’t forget. Please get out so I can study m– my speciwoman.” Černá looks about to say something about the first half of his sentence (there’s neither wine nor cheese this far from Earth) and then she looks very angry about the second half (a pun on ‘specimen’ that Ó Gormáin had had to explain to Purple in the hopes of making her groan at him) and then she throws her hands up and stomps out of the room without saying anything further at all. Ó Gormáin gives Purple a conspiratorial look. “Always pleasant to hear from her, no?” Purple nods, and that must be the right answer, because it makes Ó Gormáin laugh to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continue the tests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple thinks about Černá naming Bridgette specifically.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(If you’re here to shoveltalk me, don’t worry, every other branch of the family tree’s already gotten around to it. You’re a little slow on the uptake, huh, pops?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple twists internally, where the movement won’t carry to the movement of her suit. This was not a shovel talk. Černá didn’t mention a shovel, or digging Purple a grave. Also, Purple and Bridgette are not in a relationship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ó Gormáin moves her suit’s arm out straight and takes a reading, and Purple focuses on following the xenobiologist’s instructions for her examination.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Alvarado and Brown are in the same place, and Purple stops just outside the door to Communication. “Hey,” she says, an icebreaker, and Brown’s shoulders hitch up to their ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good afternoon, Purple,” they say, turning around in their chair and giving her a </span>
  <em>
    <span>look.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Quit staring at me like that, if I want to say that he’s a coward who’s so far up his own ass that he can taste stomach acid, then I’ll fucking say it!)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Alvarado doesn’t know, then. Thank the stars. “Just checking in,” she echoes, and Alvarado hums.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Checking that Communications Officer Brown hasn’t told me that you’re an alien?” Alvarado asks, salt-and-pepper eyebrow cocked. Ah. Brown turns to them and, instead of saying anything, just makes a vaguely frustrated and betrayed gesture. Alvarado chuckles. “Tan and I have tea together—” Brown snorts— “and she let it slip.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll bet that’s not the only thing she let slip during ‘tea,’” mumbles Brown, only to earn a sharp smack upside the head from Alvarado. Purple makes a mental note to ask about that, later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if nothing had been said, “Why wouldn’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell</span>
  </em>
  <span> me, chica?” Purple’s gloves ball up into restless fists, and she steps inside, closing the door behind her. (Neither of them tense or look wary, being alone in the same room with the thing that killed Červený. Maybe they don’t know. Maybe, like Tan, it’s been so long since she’s killed someone that they think she’s safe and don’t care. She doesn’t risk asking.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ejection,” Purple says, sitting down opposite the two. Alvarado frowns, looking upset that Purple would even consider such a thing. Purple fidgets with her gloves – she picked it up from Bridgette at some point, and the habit has never left – and mumbles, “Polus’ exposed magma, though cooler than Earth’s typical lava flow, has been known to reach upwards of five-hundred degrees Celsius.” Alvarado stands up, and Purple cringes back into her chair, but then– but then Alvarado is gathering her into a hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Warmly, into her nylon-canvas shoulder, “Purple, you’re a part of the team. We could never do that to you. To any of the Skeld’s crew.” Purple is not an organism built for tears, but she twists and twirls in her suit with comfort and relief and with love. She loves this ship. She loves its crew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She is part of its crew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Black has no idea,” Brown adds after a moment, and Purple pulls away from the hug to look at them. They give her a small smile. “I figured you should tell her, instead of having it come out between tasks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should… I… tell her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alvarado and Brown throw their arms up and exclaim, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Purple,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> so Purple thinks that’s a yes.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Bridgette is downloading files in Electrical, and Purple taps her on the shoulder. “Oh! Gosh, you are just– </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> sneaky, sweetpea. You have tasks in here?” Purple shakes her helmet, and Bridgette flushes. She’s been doing that a lot, recently. “Come to see lil’ old me?” Bridgette jokes, and Purple flutters along the insides of her suit as she nods. It makes Bridgette flush more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I needed to… tell you something,” Purple says, and Bridgette bites her lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The terminal beeps, signalling that Bridgette’s download is finished. “Me first?” Bridgette asks, and Purple blinks. She takes a step back, nodding and gesturing with her glove for Bridgette to go ahead. “I, um. Well, I–I know that fraternization is frowned upon, and I understand that outright </span>
  <em>
    <span>relationships</span>
  </em>
  <span> are practically as taboo as it gets up here, but– w-well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so,</span>
  </em>
  <span> rather—” she takes a deep breath, and takes Purple’s gloves in her hands. Her brown eyes are big and warm and fond when she looks up and asks, “So, would you want to get a coffee with me once we’re back on Earth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Holy shit.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple hisses at the absurd relevance of the thought, shocked and amazed. This is a date. Bridgette is asking her on a date.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A date on Earth, where suits are irrelevant, and where Bridgette would have to see what Purple really looks like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple deflates, and it must look like a sigh, because Bridgette is dropping her gloves and saying, “Sorry, I didn’t– ‘course not, my bad– I apologize, Purple, really, I do—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Earth,” Purple starts, and she wants so badly to catch Bridgette’s hands back in hers, but she doesn’t let herself just yet. She pauses. “It wouldn’t… be… </span>
  <em>
    <span>back</span>
  </em>
  <span> on Earth… for me.” Bridgette’s brows are furrowed with confusion, and Purple gives her a shrug and a helmet cocked like a slight smile. “Bridgette… I’m not… human.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Nice fucking going, Carlyle. Three minutes in and she had to make up an excuse to leave. God, I can’t have lost my game that much, right?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bridgette huffs a laugh, and she takes Purple’s gloves once more. She asks, “Is that all?” Purple blinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that all?” Purple echoes, too shocked and uncomprehending to give a better answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bridgette is smiling, and she’s still blushing, and she is so, so pretty. Purple can’t help but flutter and watch as Bridgette reaches up carefully and unlatches Purple’s helmet. “You’ve protected me since we met,” Bridgette says, “and you’ve been there for me in any way I needed. A little inhumanity ain’t such a big thing.” And then she pulls the helmet off. Purple braces for hysteria, or tears, but the most she gets is a small step backwards. “Gosh,” Bridgette says, seemingly distracted from the point she was originally making. “Those sure are… big lookin’ chompers. Don’t suppose Mr. Schwartz came with ‘em?” Purple clacks the mandibles together almost sheepishly, and Bridgette startles, though with a smile, and she laughs and places her hand on Purple’s shoulder after jumping back. “Maybe not coffee,” Bridgette says, tucking a strand of hair that was bleached of all its dirty blond pigmentation when Purple took over the body behind a flattened ear, “but we could go for a walk in a park somewhere. Get you a scarf and some big sunglasses. If you’d like?” And Purple… Purple would. Purple would like that a lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So she says, “Please,” And Bridgette’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>smile,</span>
  </em>
  <span> oh, the girl could light stars with it.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Purple is crawling through the vents. Parts of the suit have to stay to replace the pieces of Carlyle that she used up to make herself a habitat amongst his body, but she can shed the helmet easily, and the outer layers were easy enough to replace with long gloves and thick boots. It has made crawling through the vents much, much less difficult.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple clambers halfway out of the vent in the cafeteria, and Tan grabs her glove and pulls her the rest of the way. “Ó Gormáin’s been digging through your rations,” she says simply, and Purple rolls her eyes. It’s been seven months since anyone has flinched at watching her do so. “He’s offering to split your burrito bowl with anyone who can get him wasted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ó Gormáin!” Purple calls.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Scatter!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Černá shouts, presumably as someone who was attempting to get part of Purple’s burrito bowl, and Brown laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s good, Purple thinks, sitting down at the table between Bridgette and Alvarado, across from an Ó Gormáin who is poorly explaining away his attempt at stealing her food while Brown and Černá add conflicting sides to his story. It’s good to be part of the Skeld’s crew. It’s good to know that there have been extensive reports detailing why all of the dead and live xenobiology samples have gone missing after most of the study had been conducted. It’s good to know that Tan trusts her with things about Earth, and that Tan can be trusted with knowledge of Purple’s home. It’s good to know that Alvarado still thinks of her as a duckling under their wing, and that Černá won’t stab her any more than she’d stab a human crewmate, and that Brown will gleefully share all the gossip they can muster up. It’s good to hold Bridgette’s hand and know that Bridgette knows her, and loves her, and squeezes back under no false assumptions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For all their jokes, they don’t let her go hungry, and Purple will protect all of them until the stars around them burn out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She is, in a word, loved. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>EDIT: thank you to lea for correcting me on the czech names! </p><p>PINK — Nicholas Ó Gormáin* (HE/HIM, IRISH, XENOBIOLOGIST)<br/>RED — Kaia Brown (THEY/THEM, ENGLISH, COMMUNICATIONS)<br/>ORANGE — Jìngyí Tan** (SHE/HER, TAIWANESE, NAVIGATOR)<br/>YELLOW — Sabina Černá° (SHE/HER, CZECH, WEAPONS)<br/>LIME — Elena-Miguel Alvarado*** (THEY/THEM, CUBAN, BOTANIST)<br/>CYAN — Jan Červený° (HE/HIM, CZECH, DOCTOR)<br/>BLUE — Thomas LeBlanc°° (HE/HIM, FRENCH, RADIATION SPECIALIST)<br/>PURPLE — Purple (SHE/HER, OUTSIDE, IMPOSTOR)<br/>BLACK — Bridgette Greene (SHE/HER, AMERICAN, ENGINEER) </p><p>[DECEASED] PURPLE — Carlyle Schwartz°°° (HE/HIM, AMERICAN, FLUIDICS) </p><p>*irish surname that (allegedly; i got this from behind the name) means "son of gorman" with "gorman" meaning "little blue one"<br/>**min nan romanization of 陈 (pronounced "chen")<br/>°czech surname; černá meaning "black" and červený meaning "red"<br/>***spanish surname that (allegedly; again, behind the name) was derived from alba meaning "white"<br/>°°french surname meaning "the white"<br/>°°°a variant of the german surname schwarz meaning "black" </p><p>(also, hope you liked the fic! sorry I took it down for a while, there)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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